


Of Drunken Bets

by SammyTethras (FreckleWalker)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckleWalker/pseuds/SammyTethras
Summary: Varric Tethras is a ladies man, through and through. So how did he manage to find himself in bed with Garrett Hawke?





	1. Intro

Some nights, Varric lay awake in bed, wondering how he got here.

Well, not HERE here, since, y'know, born and raised in Kirkwall and all that.

The “here” he's referring to tonight, is the Hawke manor. More to the point, the master bedroom of the Hawke manor, nude from the waist up and wrapped haphazardly in a rumpled sheet with one entirely nude Garrett Hawke asleep on his chest.

A soft smile crossed Varric's features as he ran his fingers though Garrett's hair and along his scalp, careful not to wake him. As is the same with most anyone, Hawke always looked the most peaceful when he slept. The stress lines near his eyes and along his forehead smoothed significantly, his normally set jaw relaxed enough to part his lips. Varric could feel the warm air ghost through his chest hair with each steady exhale.

Farther down, the light from the fireplace perfectly shadowed each indentation along his ribs, the curve of his hip, and highlighted the swell of Hawke's backside with a nice pair of darkening bruises that were beginning to set in. The matching marks around Hawke's wrist, which lay in a loose fist near his chin, drew Varric's other hand to it, thumb stroking the fresh bruising absently.

Varric looked around the room and sighed, taking in the ornate stone fireplace, the gilded wardrobes, the statues. These things had always been more Bartrand's style. Dwarf or no, Varric had never held any particular favor for fancy shit like this. Not that Hawke seemed at all partial to it either, which he supposed was a good thing. Less things to bicker about down the road, should it come to that.

If you'd asked Varric even six months ago if he could ever imagine his life this way, he would've asked you what you were on, and then given you pointers on how to turn it for a profit ‘cause it was obviously something pretty powerful.

Varric was a ladies man. Not just any ladies man either - sure he'd flirt with damn near any woman with a pulse, but he'd never planned to settle down with anyone except another dwarf.

Best laid plans, right?

Instead, here he was. In bed with a human man. The Champion of Kirkwall and Varric's own best friend, no less! The epitome of manliness in their fair city and no one would believe him for a second if he were to spill the secrets about their relationship. About how the people's champion could be reduced to a whimpering, quivering, blissed out mess using naught but Varric's own voice and a few firm commands.

Not that he wanted to share these things with anyone. Oh, no. That knowledge was for Varric alone, and he would keep Hawke's secrets if it killed him.

Varric removed his hand from Hawke's hair, choosing to wrap around his shoulders almost possessively, and resumed his petting motions along the top of Hawke's tricep.

Truth be told, which is something Varric doesn't do often, he's terrified to lose this now. This closeness, the safety he feels with Hawke. After all he went through with Bianca…

“I can hear you thinking,” came the ragged baritone from the mass of dark hair against his sternum.

Varric hummed in response, blinking hard to reorient himself. He moved his hand from Hawke's wrist to his jaw and gently scratched his fingers through Garrett's beard.

“That so? What do you hear?”

Hawke shifted his head so he could look up at Varric through bleary, half asleep eyes, but otherwise kept still.

“A cacophony. Hard to make out. Might've heard something about buying me breakfast in the morning.”

“Cheeky, aren't you?” Varric grinned.

Hawke only nodded in response, stretching himself enough to press a tired kiss to Varric's lips.

“Sleep,” Varric whispered against Hawke's mouth, tilting just enough to rest his forehead against the others’. “Plenty of time for talk in the morning.”

Hawke nodded once more and resumed his prior position, curled against Varric's side, head on his chest. Varric reclined on the pillows again, returning the hand in Hawke's beard to where it had been, twining their fingers together this time.

To think, this whole situation had started with a drunken bet.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcome :)


	2. Of First Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear; kisses are the messengers of love and tenderness."  
> —Ingrid Bergman

The Hanged Man was home for Varric.

He enjoyed his palatial suite and the furnishings he’d procured from all over Thedas that he used to liven up the place. He enjoyed the raucous atmosphere on nights when the pub, itself, was packed so tightly that a man didn’t even have his own breathing room. He enjoyed being in a centralized location in Kirkwall because it meant that his friends and local business contacts were more likely to visit him, rather than needing to go out of his way to get to them these days. He’s not getting any younger, after all.

Sometimes, though, even planned visits from formerly estranged members of their merry band of misfits caught him off guard and turned that enjoyment sour.

 “I dare you to kiss Hawke.”

 Varric snorted into his tankard as he finished the mouthful of ale he’d just tipped back.

 “Ooh, a classic cliche,” he quipped breathlessly, a smirk on his lips. Wiping the ale splatters from his cheeks with the cuff of his coat sleeve, he continued. “That the best you can do, Rivaini?”

 Isabela crossed her arms on the table opposite him as a smug, conspiratorial grin split her features.

“Of course not, but consider it payback for daring me to flirt with Edwina last week.” 

“Been meaning to thank you for that, actually. I think you managed to scare her off for good this time.” 

Isabela turned in her seat and scanned the front room of the Hanged Man. Their usual hexagonal table toward the back corner had been available immediately by the time she’d arrived, the crowd much more sparse than usual this evening. Despite the lack of people, however, sure enough, the haughty human woman was nowhere to be seen. Isabela even craned her neck to check around the stone, load bearing pillar in the center of the room.

“It’s not my fault she couldn’t handle a little attention,” Isabela said with a shrug as she returned her focus to the dwarf across the table. 

“You sat in her lap, put her hands on your ass, and told her that intelligence isn’t everything,” chuckled Varric. “What did you expect to happen?” 

‘The result was always going to be a toss-up really, but we’re getting off the subject. You. Hawke. Kiss. Tongue is optional, but highly encouraged.” 

Varric rolled his eyes, keeping his expression painfully neutral.

“Not happening. I’m as straight as one of Bianca’s bolts. You know that. Besides, Hawke isn't even here yet. Shouldn't he get a say in this?”

Isabela made a noise of dismissal and rested her chin on the heel of her hand, elbow set on the table.

“Hawke will be fine,” she said, waving her hand as if dispelling the thought. “Of all people, Varric, I imagined you understood that who you like to sleep with doesn’t determine who you're allowed to kiss. You’ve really never locked lips with another man before?”

“No, and I have no plans to.”

“What a shame. You’re missing out,” Isabela purred.

“What’s he missing out on?” a familiar voice asked from just over Varric’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Hawke! What a coincidence - we were just talking about you,” said Isabella with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, well, all good things, I hope,” replied Hawke, patting Varric’s shoulder as he came around his chair, pulling his own seat up to the table to Isabela’s right.

Hawke looked like he could use a drink even more than usual tonight. His armor sat on his body at a bit of an odd angle and Varric sensed he was hiding a limp, based on the large dent in his lower right greave. Even his hair was limp from the long dried sweat of the day's action, though he tried to ruffle it back up again when he got himself seated.

Varric sent a hard look to the pirate as he picked his tankard up again, then softened it into something more nonchalant to address Hawke.

“Good things? I don’t know, that’s kind of a stretch for you, Hawke,” Varric said, feigning sincerity around his next drink. “We’d just been revisiting your ‘No, Really, Helmets Are In Style Right Now’ phase.”

Isabela cackled at that and Hawke groaned, momentarily burying his face in his hands. 

“Maker, don’t remind me,” Hawke laughed. “I can’t believe it took you all so long to convince me to keep it off outside of a fight. Even Aveline tried to talk me out of wearing it around the city more than once.”

“Well, what matters is that we did finally manage to get you to change your mind,” Isabela said, patting Hawke’s arm. “You helmet hair was atrocious.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hawke agreed and got to his feet. “Speaking of, I should probably speak to Corff about getting one of those. Back shortly." 

“Make it three, Hawke. On me,” Varric called to Hawke’s retreating back and received an affirmative gesture in reply.

In the time they’d been talking, the pub had gotten busier. Over the rim of his cup, Varric watched Hawke weave through the other patrons milling around and chatting to themselves. Some of them greeted Hawke with familiarity, others were too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay him any mind. As he watched, he began to think about Isabela’s dare. 

It’s not that Hawke wasn’t attractive. You’d have to be blind to think that that was the issue. He’s just so far from Varric’s usual type, almost exactly the opposite. Human, instead of dwarf. Too tall, not broad enough, limbs all over the place. Fun on a woman, but another man? Which brought him to his second point, the amount of sheer masculinity Hawke exuded, both in looks and personality. Bearded, hard angles instead of soft curves, large calloused hands instead of gentle petite ones. He didn’t think he could even pretend Hawke was a woman to go through with this. 

Above everything else, though, Hawke was his best friend. Something like this could potentially ruin a friendship and Varric definitely wasn’t willing to risk that over something so juvenile.

Sighing, he downed the rest of his drink.

When he lowered the tankard to the table again, Isabela was staring at him.

“What?”

“You’re too smart to play dumb, Varric. It’s not a good look on you,” Isabela smiled. “I saw you watching him. Rethinking your answer?” 

“No.”

 _‘Yes,’_ his mind supplied helpfully.

Well, less rethinking and more slightly indulging his latent curiosity in regards to the content of the dare.

Isabela hummed in response as Hawke returned to the table with three fresh drinks in hand.

From there, the night commenced like any other, for a time, and the tavern only got busier. Varric pulled out his cards for Wicked Grace and Diamondback and they switched between the games periodically, winning money, losing money, telling stories, and getting deeper into their cups. Varric was not a lightweight by a long shot, but the more he drank, the farther his mind began to wander. He was unable to avoid the challenging gaze from Isabela throughout the night and it continuously brought him back to thoughts about what it might be like to kiss Hawke.

Would the beard really be so bad?

If the beard didn't turn him off entirely, Hawke's scent might help with that. Hawke certainly didn’t smell like a woman, but he took care of himself and rarely smelled _bad_. In this case, Varric wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the few times he’d caught a whiff of Hawke’s cologne, it caused a comforting feeling to settle in his chest. Being close enough to kiss, it would be inescapable. 

Speaking of, the flat planes of Hawke’s chest were currently covered by light armor, so his lack of breasts wouldn’t be terribly evident if he did decide to humor the pirate. That was a plus. A lot of women wore compression garments under their armor so things didn't bounce around in a battle. He'd come across it before.

So, would kissing another man truly be so awful?

Maybe just the once wouldn’t be. Maybe it would be just poor enough to confirm that, no, he didn’t like it and that, yes, women were forever his target demographic.

Hawke was both the safest and most dangerous person to test those waters with. Varric trusted Hawke with his life, would do just shy of anything for the man, and in return, he felt Hawke would do the same for him.

Maybe he could do this...

Varric snapped back to the present as Isabela slammed her newly emptied mug down onto the table, drawing the attention of nearby patrons.

“Okay, last game of the night. I’d like t’propose a bet,” she announced, her words slurring together just enough to mar her usual accent. “Money’s only fun t’play with when you don’ have enough t’spare that you could melt it all down an’ guild the whole city. I’ve got a better idea.”

Varric pressed his fingers to his temple in irritation at Isabela's antics when he saw Hawke leaning in interest toward her.

“Well, don’ keep us waitin’! Wha’s the bet?” Hawke prodded, his own words beginning to slur a bit from the ale.

Isabela drew out the silence for dramatic effect.

“The winner gets a kiss from the loser,” she said with a wink just as Varric dropped his hands back to the tabletop.

Hawke grinned and batted his eyelashes at Isabela, propping his chin up with his hand 

“ ‘f you wanted a kiss from me, Isabela, all y’had to do was ask,” he said almost smoothly.

Isabela mimicked Hawke’s pose and replied with an insinuating look across the table at Varric, “We’ll just have t’see how the night goes. But I don’ think I’m the one you have t’watch out for.”

Hawke followed her gaze and seemed to sober a bit when he met Varric’s eyes. Ever the showman, Varric had already schooled his expression into one of mild amusement and he lifted one eyebrow at Hawke.

“Varric, are you...” Hawke’s worried voice made Varric’s stomach flip at the show of concern.

“Why not?” he said with a sigh and proceeded to knock back the rest of the ale in his latest tankard. “Let’s see how the cards fall, shall we?"

To no one but Hawke’s surprise, Isabela folded immediately.

Hawke gaped, looking for all the world like a fish out of water as he glanced back and forth between Varric, Isabela, and the cards on the table. For his part, Varric simply became the embodiment of the word exasperation, while Isabela beamed. 

“This is Wicked Grace, Rivaini, not Diamondback. There is no folding this early on.”

“Too late! S’been declared and it's staying that way.” 

Varric lay his own cards on the table to rub his temples again as Hawke looked at him and stammered, “So...I guess that means, um…”

“Nonsense! You still need t’find out who’s making the delivery. Now, go on. Play your hands,” Isabela encouraged.

“I swear I'm gonna throttle you one day,” Varric said through the corner of his mouth, brow furrowing as retrieved his cards.

“Mm, don't make a girl a promise you can't keep, Varric,” Isabella replied coyly.

Both men continued to swap and play their cards, exchanging teasing barbs until the angel of death reared its head near the bottom of the drawing deck. Before the two revealed their hands, Hawke spoke up again. 

“You're sure you wanna do this, Varric? ‘m drunk but not so much that I'd make you kiss me if you don' want to.” 

Outwardly, Varric was composed, unless you looked closely enough to see the fine tremors in his hands. Internally, his mind was spinning, stomach feeling as though it was attempting to lodge itself in his throat and fall into his feet at the same time. 

Hawke was giving him a way out.

He should've expected as much. Hawke really was just that kind of guy. But for all his nerves, Varric couldn't make himself take it. For Hawke's sake, he didn't want to give him that kind of a blow to his ego. For his own, he looked at it like ripping off a bandage. It would also satisfy a curiosity he hadn't realized he'd had. That he _hadn't_ had until it was all focused on Hawke.

Okay. One and done. Get it over with and forget about it.

When he realized Hawke was still waiting for an answer, he smirked and replied, “Make _me_? Awful sure of your cards, aren't you?"

Hawke's own face broke into a grin as he flipped his hand out toward Varric and Isabela.

“Why shouldn' I be with a set like this?” he asked, revealing 4 Songs and a Serpent grasped between his fingers. 

Varric winced and nodded his head, drawing air between his teeth in a hiss. 

“He's got a point,” chimed Isabela.

“You're right, Hawke, you've got me beat,” Varric said with a sigh, waiting a moment before he continued. “Or, you would any other night.” 

With that, Varric revealed his own hand containing three Knights and two Angels all of the same theme, the combo just barely beating Hawke's.

Isabela whooped and Hawke looked momentarily stunned before he broke out in laughter. Varric grinned despite himself as he gathered up the scattered cards on the table. 

“Well, I s’pose a deal is a deal then, isn't it, Master Tethras?” teased Hawke, turning toward the dwarf in question. 

Varric froze for a beat at the sound of the honorific in front of his name. Hearing it in general was nothing new, but Hawke had never regarded him that way before. He found he quite liked the way it sounded. How odd. 

“Deals, debts, one way or another dwarves always come to collect what they're owed. Even if the circumstances surrounding the exchange are...underhanded, at best.” Varric tapped the cards on the table as he finished collecting them, sending another pointed look to Isabela before returning his attention to Hawke.

What he found in the man facing him was an unexpected sense of hesitation. Hawke's countenance had shifted from that of confident lasciviousness to barely concealed tension. The smirk still tugged at his lips, his eyebrow remained arched in a playful challenge, but his eyes were wrong. A mask over their usual, expressive nature that told Varric that Hawke was having second thoughts, was waiting to see how Varric, himself, was going to respond. 

Taking a deep breath, Varric lay the straightened deck on the table and pushed his chair back a couple of feet. He remained seated, but extended his hand toward Hawke and used two fingers to wave him closer. 

Varric's mind was awhirl as Hawke stood and shuffled nearer to him.

This act of total control in itself was nothing new to Varric. Many a woman had dropped to her knees in front of him with little more than a look or a whispered promise of things to come, should she desire them. He knew he was good at what he did, good to every woman he bedded and, frankly, he got off on the power trip. The only difference with this situation was that, now, his attentions were being directed at another man. 

Not that he had any plans to bed Hawke. 

But he knew when his best friend was dealing with something in his head and trying to hide it. So he assumed his role, sinking into an air of dominance and power with ease, even as Hawke stood over him. 

Even if this was just going to be a kiss, he wanted to make sure Hawke was comfortable with it. Varric would sort himself out later. 

“Hawke,” Varric murmured, his tone of voice having dropped into something lower, more sultry, as he steepled his fingers under his chin. “I believe you have something for me.” 

Hawke was avoiding eye contact and Varric could see his cheeks darkening further than the alcohol had already colored them.

Then, it was as if a switch had been flipped.

Varric watched as Hawke straightened his posture, cleared the doubt from his face, and ran a hand through his hair, meeting Varric's gaze evenly. Before Varric could say anything else, Hawke bent at the waist and braced his hands on the arms of Varric's chair, stopping just as they came nose to nose. Varric found himself having to tip his head back in order to stay locked onto Hawke's eyes. 

This close, the uncertainty was even more evident. So much so that when Hawke tilted his head to finish closing the gap between them, Varric stopped him with a steady hand on his shoulder. 

“Hawke…Garrett, are you sure _you're_ okay with this?” 

Hawke seemed to shiver at the use of his first name as it rolled off Varric's tongue. Something to look into later, perhaps. 

Nonetheless, the response was a tiny incline of his head as Hawke returned the question, “Are you?” 

Varric's own heart stuttered at the inquiry and his eyes flicked down to Hawke's lips for a moment. They were not terribly effeminate, but still looked very soft, and were surrounded by immaculately groomed facial hair. Lips that formed the most beautiful smiles and hid secrets large enough to topple an empire - that already had torn down regimes with their words. Lips that Varric now felt inexplicably drawn to. 

When his gaze refocused on Hawke's eyes, his response was simple. 

“Yes.”

The first touch was barely more than a shared breath when Hawke leaned in, feather light and innocent, almost shy. When neither made a move to put any distance between them, Varric let his eyes fall closed and pressed into the tender contact. If he was going to decide whether he liked this or not, he needed to get the full effect. It was only logical. 

Before long, the din of the tavern in their immediate vicinity began to go quiet and Isabela could be heard making noises of approval under her breath. Varric knew his reputation and realized that a stunt like this would draw some attention. Right now, though, he didn't much care. None of any of that seemed to matter until Hawke started to pull away far too soon for Varric’s lliking.

Convincing himself that one more test was needed to _actually_ make his decision, Varric moved the hand on Hawke's shoulder up into the taller man's hair to keep him anchored. Sitting himself up straighter in his chair, Varric curled his gloved fingers in those dark locks tightly enough to tug. The action drew an unexpected noise from Hawke, his elbows buckling as he fell further toward Varric and into the kiss. 

Varric took note of the reaction before quickly taking advantage of the situation. He flicked his tongue out just enough to touch the upper of Hawke’s parted lips, a voiceless question in the action.

Hawke's response was immediate. 

A reciprocal stroke of the tongue, venturing far enough back to reach the roof of Varric’s mouth behind his teeth. A brief, teasing touch that sent Varric's pulse racing in a way it hadn't done for a very long time. This only spurred Varric on as he took the reins and ran with them, proceeding to deepen the kiss with a newfound ferocity. 

When his mind finally caught up with him a minute or so later, Varric realized a few things. First of all, Hawke was now all but straddling him where he sat - a position Varric had always quite liked, but never expected to be in with this particular person. Second, that Hawke seemed to be thoroughly relishing every moment of this exchange, if the heavy breathing and strong hold on Varric's arms were any indication. Third, that Varric had also reached a state where he was undeniably enjoying himself, as well.

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

It was supposed to be terrible. He was supposed to be able to chalk it up to being one of those experiences you had for no other reason than to say you'd had it. There was no plan for how to deal with the situation if he found that he actually liked it.

Varric wasn't one to judge this type of thing in anyone else. He was fully of the belief that the things in life that make you happy should be kept close. As long as no one's getting hurt in the process, don't let anyone tell you what's allowed to make your life fulfilling. But this new revelation was quickly becoming overwhelming.

“I said **A** kiss, you two! 

A whistle, followed by Isabela's voice rang out, causing the two men to jerk out of their position in surprise

“If I'd known you were going to sit there and suck face, I would've charged admission! Not that I'm complaining.”

Varric flipped her the bird and returned his attention to Hawke, taking in his flushed face and hooded eyes that had trained themselves back on Varric's lips. Some small voice in the back of Varric's mind told him he'd like to see this side of Hawke again.

Soon.

 _‘Well, maybe not in front of so many people next time,’_ he thought with a brief glance at the folks around them.

Varric dipped his head to catch Hawke's eyes once more and shifted his grip back down to Hawke's shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“You alright?” 

Hawke laughed softly and nodded his head.

“Better than,” he replied, his expression light for a few moments before it clouded again. “What about you?”

Varric had a lot to think about. Everything he thought he knew about himself had been turned on its head and he was still reeling. Hawke’s responses and reactions to the whole thing had him thinking that there was more there than he'd ever acknowledged beyond playful banter. He needed some time to hash everything out, but for now…

“Yeah, I am,” Varric said, a sincere smile playing on his features. “I really think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since BioWare has yet to release an official deck or rule set for Wicked Grace, I'm just going by what can be gleaned from the games, fan theories, and the official wiki for this chapter. If I did it wrong, feel free to correct me!
> 
> Also, thank you for all the love on the intro! Hopefully this chapter lived up to expectations. More to come!  
> Comments are always welcome~


End file.
